WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

I secretly wonder if this famous song was penned as an ode to those delightful little orange orbs we know as Clementines. I just love them and they are the only reason I look forward to late November – Thanksgiving time heralds their arrival at the produce department.

Right now the smell of Clementines lingers in the kitchen … and on my fingers … long after they have been enjoyed.

It is my favorite smell, other than that English toffee cappuccino which wafts through the room and permeates my hair and sweatshirt while I am drinking it and I can inhale that sweet scent for hours afterward.

I think I am obsessed with food smells sometimes.

Since I gave up sweets for Lent in 2011, and then permanently, my only sweet indulgences are my Sunday cappuccino and a quart of egg nog for the holidays. I bought that creamy custard egg nog a few weeks ago, and knew it was in the fridge and couldn’t wait ‘til the holidays to drink it.

The sweets and treats I no longer crave, but I could write volumes on baking and cooking smells through the years, especially around the holidays. In fact I know I wrote a blog post last year reminiscing about Christmas cookies. Cookies were always my downfall. It is easy to give up baked goods and candy but they are not around the house either, so I am not all that smart to be truthful. I really don’t know if brownies or peanut butter cookies were baking in the oven right now, that I wouldn’t slip off the proverbial wagon. Hard.

Nowadays a treat is the crunch of a good Honey Crisp apple or the juicy goodness of a Clementine orange.

I wonder if parents sink a Clementine or two into the toe of their kids’ Christmas stockings? The kids would get more goodies in their stocking that way. I know I always got a large orange and apple crowding out the toe of my Christmas stocking – no coal for me of course, being the exemplary child that I was. (Smile)

On Christmas Eve my parents would fill my sock and lay it gently at the foot of my bed long after I went to sleep. They were secretly hoping that the sock would be a diversion to keep me occupied for awhile so they could catch some extra ZZZZs before I scurried out to the living room to see what Santa had brought. The dimpled orange and shiny apple were set aside to be eaten later and I honed right in on a book or coloring books and crayons that were stuffed in my Christmas stocking. My mom liked to knit so I usually got knitted outfits for my baby dolls, then later for my Barbie dolls.

The only candy I ever got in my Christmas stocking was one candy cane and gold, foil-wrapped chocolate coins. They were luscious milk chocolate that melted in your mouth and were very similar to gelt, the chocolate coins given to children at Hanukkah. They were a special treat as I was seldom allowed to eat candy. My grandmother used to sneak me “humbugs” , those British brown-striped rum butter candies that she always kept in a little tin in her apron pocket. She’d pat her pocket and that was the signal to reach in; all the while she’d be whispering “don’t tell Mommy and Daddy” … that’s such a feel-good memory. Perhaps my very first cavity might have been attributed to those little suckers, now that I think of it.

The holidays are a time to indulge a little, whether it is Hanukkah which began today or the inevitable Christmastime goodies that will be paraded in front of you ‘til the end of the year.

It was supposed to be drizzly and foggy this morning so I figured it was a stay-at-home day. When I peeked out the door I was pleasantly surprised to discover the weather folks were wrong. You win some – you lose some. Their early predictions are for a white Christmas so we’ll see where that goes.

It was already a pleasant 45 degrees when I turned off the radio and began suiting up to go for a walk. The suiting-up equation was different today, than for the past few days. Subtract the Sherpa hat, wool scarf and heavy gloves and add instead the red wool headband and terry stretch gloves to be good to go. Ahhh – that equals comfort for this balmy, and not even brisk, morn. Heck … it’s almost beach wear weather.

It was a little murky when I left the house for my Sunday stroll. There were wet patches on the pavement, but no ice – way too warm for ice. Winter officially arrives one week from today, yet it felt rather Fallish – almost like an October day. All my senses were in gear while I walked along. I saw the lifeless leaves still covering many lawns, as the snow and freezing rain made it impossible to collect and bag ‘em before the yard waste pickup deadline the tail end of November. I heard my feet crunching through crumpled-up leaves and in the distance was the scrape of rake tines on the concrete. Musty acrid air filtered through to my nostrils so someone surely was burning leaves fairly close by. Were it not for the twinkling lights and collapsed Christmas figures on homeowners’ lawns, you wouldn’t know we were immersed in the holiday season.

The snow can stay away all Winter if it would like … a snow globe effect for Christmas Day only is my wish, just so our world looks like the carols suggest it should.

Each time I travel to Council Point Park, I am convinced it is the last time – for 2014 anyway. No, I’m not morbid, or a fatalist, but it is December in Michigan after all. I’m just being a realist.

As I walked around the perimeter path I took in the drab beauty of the Park and its inhabitants, most of which seemed to be camouflaged right into the background. Like the squirrels hiding their peanuts, I shall tuck that picture away in a corner of my mind, to be pulled out in the dead of Winter. It will remind me that one day Spring and new beginnings will return, just like clockwork.

Last Winter’s slick snow and icy sidewalks put a kibosh on cruising to the Park on foot for months, so I took to the exercise bike in the basement to keep my legs strong and conditioned for when walking season began anew.

It was an unremarkable trek this morning – perfect for a Sunday stroll. I almost laughed when a gentleman zoomed past me on his mountain bike on the trail. I saw the back of the bike had a small artificial Christmas tree strapped to his bike seat. I thought I might now have to eat yesterday’s words, i.e. disparaging men’s decorating efforts, and proclaiming that it takes a woman’s touch for decorating at Christmastime.

See … that five-mile walk made me fit as a fiddle, and a philosopher as well.

ha, ha.

What a beautiful mid-December day we had going for us here in Southeast Michigan – you couldn’t ask for better weather if you still had holiday shopping to do, outside decorating or a festive party to attend.

It seems, through the years, whenever I had occasion to get all dressed up for a Winter holiday party, it was either brutally cold or a sloppin’ mess outside. I’d be shivering and carrying my strippy little sandals while slogging through the slush and snow in big ol’ boots.

This morning, enroute to my destination, in the next block over, I had a feel-good moment, and I had to smile to myself. The yellow ribbon around the big tree out front worked!

On Memorial Day, I wrote about this family that had fastened yellow ribbons on a tree and porch posts in the front of their home. They had a service star in the window and a sign out front indicating they had a son in the service. (https://lindaschaubblog.net/2014/05/26/im-in-a-sunshine-state-of-mind/)

A few weeks ago, I noticed the latter two items were missing, yet the ribbons remained. Puzzled, I wondered what was up and hoped for the best. Every time I passed the house, I looked over to see if anything was amiss. Today I saw a huge hand-made sign “Welcome Home Justin” … ah, relief. I don’t know these people but I’m happy they have their son home for the holidays – maybe for good.

As I continued to wend my way down to Council Point Park, I saw several different men, up on a ladder and stringing those beautiful icicle lights, or people visible in the front window dressing their Christmas trees. A few of them waved. As the holiday nears, the more friendly that people are – for the most part anyway.

After yesterday’s encounter at the Park, I decided to keep a low profile and commune with nature only.

At the grocery store the other day I bought an extra-long loaf of bread to break up for the ducks. That constituted one huge bag of bread chunks plus the usual Ziploc packages of peanuts. I arrived looking like a bag lady, but, hey – the critters don’t care. They just like the goodies.

The Park was serene and tranquil and not a ripple in the Creek. Quickly I went to the log where the ducks congregate and started tossing them bread. The rustic-type bread really works better because this stuff was a little gummy and congealed, so I hope they liked the bread balls because that’s what they got. I guess so, since they gobbled them right up.

The squirrels weren’t picky either and positioned themselves near my feet while I was feeding the ducks to ensure I didn’t escape without tendering some goodies from the other bag. It made me feel good – I was right in my element. They are smart little buggers because they know they can hurry up and stash what I give them the first time, because I’ll make the circle around another time or two … yup, just like The Terminator, I’ll be back.

Two times around the entire Park and the trip back-and-forth chocked up another five miles for today … in fact, I was enjoying my walk so much, that when I got closer to home, I walked the perimeter around Memorial Park as well, adding another mile to my tally.

When I returned home, I conceded, somewhat half-heartedly, that the Christmas decorations inside looked a little lackluster, and perhaps I should break down and put something else out. So begrudgingly, I hauled out a few more holiday doodads.

Finally, I made my way over to the laptop and logged on, checking in with work first. I had an e-mail from Robb, a picture sent from the Blackberry of the office Christmas decorations. So, while normally it is a portal that connects me to my desktop, today it was a porthole to the office. It reminded me of the old-fashioned Christmas scenes of the children peering into the toy store window. This was my first glimpse of the office in over five years. I enlarged the picture to get a better look.

All the offices at Stroh River Place, have glassed-in “living rooms” as they are referred to. There are rules and regs about what you can and cannot put there since everyone can see in.

Robb likes the character Don Quixote and there are statues of DQ all over the office. The largest one is up front – Don Quixote on his donkey. It appears it has garlands wrapped around it. I wasn’t really sentimental over this picture, though I spent six years’ time there after Robb and I left the Firm. I really love my work-from-home gig. I haven’t even seen Robb in over two years – we communicate by e-mail or he mails me work to do and we talk every day on the phone, sometimes several times a day.

Of course I was critical of the decorations, thinking it needed a woman’s touch, to make it more festive (sorry guys). That used to be my job, plus I decorated my own office with a small Christmas tree with miniature ornaments and lights, and a wreath on my door. I wondered what happened to the fake, gaily-wrapped presents that I used to place under the two trees. One tree was Robb’s, and the other was mine. I e-mailed him back, with an Attaboy “good job Robb!” because, to be truthful, woman’s touch or not, my own holiday décor looked a little lame next to the cheerful lights and golden garlands he had going.

And what did you do today for 12/13/14, the last sequential date of our lifetime?

Wow! The West Coast is drowning in water after three years of drought-like conditions. Homeowners prayed for rain to salvage their landscaping and the farmers needed it for their crops. Well, now what Californians coveted for so long has become a devastating reality, so will someone please turn the taps off soon for them?

These floods are proof that Mother Nature listens, so, if anyone is looking for a white Christmas, keep those wishes to yourself, okay?

Speaking of wishes, you’d be hard pressed anymore to wish upon a single star these days. Who can find such a perfect star in the inky black sky, amidst the meteor showers, humongous moon and even Comet 67P (and no, that’s not code for one of Santa’s reindeer).

So, if you’re looking for a star to make a wish on, you’d better use the one at the top of your Christmas tree.

On the heels of yesterday’s commentary about graciousness, the innate ability to know right from wrong and respecting one’s elders, I had a most-unique encounter this morning.

I have a knack for being able to strike up a conversation with anyone. I didn’t always have the gift of gab, but working at the local diner while I attended college made me fearless about talking to anyone. It was the greatest job I could have had as it brought me out of my shell.

Often while I am meandering along the trail at Council Point Park, if I pass someone that is alone, I always briefly stop to pass the time of day. Sometimes I move on, sometimes I just walk along chit-chatting amicably for a few minutes.

It was very cold but dry when I ventured out this morning. I passed an older woman walker on the first loop around. I didn’t recall ever seeing her before, but it was kind of hard to tell since she had a scarf loosely wrapped over the bottom half of her face and her hood of her jacket flipped up. All I saw was eyeglasses. I walked alongside with her, said “good morning” and we chatted about the weather – always a common and “safe” topic for walkers.

Keeping in step with her, I remarked “only two weeks ‘til Christmas is here” and she said “yup, don’t really care though” … rather taken aback, I let that comment stay out there a minute, then decided to let it drop it like a hot potato.

I was prepared to move into the passing lane and continue on my way, then she piped up with “done with your Christmas shopping yet?” Well my gift-giving and receiving is not too complicated, and, after her rather terse answer, I just answered “yes, and you?”

Suddenly her eyes welled up with tears and one slowly slid out of the inner corner of her eye and danced along the rim of her glasses. I didn’t say anything, but I was so sorry that I conjured up this ugly Christmas can of worms.

I looked ahead, as did she.

More moments passed.

I wished one of those pesky squirrels that perpetually waylay me on the path would come up and beg so I could stop to dispense peanuts and extricate myself from the conversation … and the awkward moment. But, those furry critters were nowhere to be found when I needed them.

To lighten the moment, I pointed at my bag of peanuts and said “I hope I don’t have to eat these myself since I usually have quite a following” … well, she laughed at that. Whew!

Then she told me how when she was a kid, the family was dirt poor and there were no gifts at Christmas. Her parents told the kids there was no Santa and not to be looking for him to visit their home on Christmas Eve. She came from a large family and the kids got a new coat or boots and that was it. There was no Christmas tree put up. She said she got a paper route and went and bought herself gifts – even going so far to wrap them up, hide them away and unwrap them on Christmas morning so she could tell her school chums what she got.

She told me she did that for years and then graduated from high school and got a job and moved out of the house and never went back … even for a visit – ever. And, she never celebrated Christmas again.

I asked if she lived around here and she said “I’m just in town visiting an old friend and I stopped to see this pretty Park and clear my head” and then she pointed to her car and said “I’ll be shoving off now”, and, though the seasonal greeting is “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”, somehow it didn’t seem appropriate to utter any of those phrases, so I just said “see ya” … and then she was gone.

You never know what people are thinking – she looked a little lost and lonely, just walking aimlessly along and not striding confidently along the path like the rest of the walkers, or me. I merely decided to be friendly.

Perhaps it was written in the stars that our paths should cross this morning.

I really prefer to walk solo and our encounter left me feeling uneasy.

I wished I’d just enjoyed that lonely train whistle in the still morn and remained content with my own company.

My parents were always adamant that their only child should be a polite little girl.

I was taught to say “please” and “thank you” and “your welcome” to the extent that those responses still roll off my tongue automatically to this day. Nope, this little girl never had to be nudged and told “what do you say?”

Sunday was always a dress-up day as I attended Sunday school, so I wore a dress, hat and white gloves.

As soon as I was able to feed myself, I was handed a knife and fork by my father and told I must use these utensils for eating everything from that point on. He was German and it was the European way to always eat with knife and fork. At first it was awkward, and my food would get cold while I struggled to manipulate those utensils, but gradually I got the hang of it.

Even as a young child, there were never elbows on the table, and I had to lay a napkin across my lap to be picked up occasionally to dab daintily at my mouth.

We weren’t rich, but it was all about having good manners from the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper as that saying goes.

As part of my early childhood upbringing in Canada, I learned how to curtsy. I never questioned what practical purpose that curtsying had in my life, but I was told I should practice and perfect my curtsy “just in case” the situation came up. My mother had some medical issues that prevented her from being able to squat or bend at the knees and I recall my grandmother showing me how to grab the sides of my dress and do a petite curtsy. I was giggling at her as she offered me pointers.

I must say that I have not thought about the “curtsying lessons” in decades.

Until this week.

The Royals were visiting New York for a whirlwind three-day trip last weekend. Now, Will and Kate are modern-day Royals, and often appear in jeans or casual clothes – heck, Kate showed up sunbathing nude a couple of times in the tabloids a few years ago.

But, New Yorkers were warned in advance not to look grubby or unkempt when they swarmed around the Royal couple to greet them.

And, then there was the unfortunate issue of the post-basketball game photo op with King James. After the Cavs and Nets game, which Will and Kate attended, LeBron James seized the opportunity to gift the couple with specially made jerseys for little George and his parents. He stood close to Kate, still sweaty from the game, and placed one big hand on her delicate shoulder. She didn’t flinch, but posed stiffly next to him. The next day the Brits lambasted LeBron for his familiarity, which they found despicable, as no one is supposed to touch the Royals, especially a future Queen of England. They said “don’t you know, people are supposed to bow or curtsy to royalty?” Poor LeBron didn’t know, but Michelle Obama likewise put her arm on Queen Elizabeth’s back at Buckingham Palace which raised the British hackles as well a few years ago.

I am amused by the whole episode.

At least American presidents may mingle with the crowd from time to time. President Obama claps people on the back, scoops up youngsters or kisses babies; he even broke bread with the rest of the lunchtime crowd at Zingerman’s Deli when he last visited Ann Arbor, Michigan. President Obama is not a stuffed shirt by any means and he wasn’t campaigning either.

The LeBron James faux pas and minding your manners has been on my mind and percolatin’ along, just enough to turn it into this post.

Minding your manners is important, and I am grateful for whatever social graces I learned when I was young – I carry them with me. Maybe too much sometimes, because …

I went grocery shopping at Meijer this morning. I always use the U-scan and check my groceries out myself. Sometimes an older gentleman store clerk helps me pack or we pass the time of day. For some reason, he thinks my name is “Catherine”. He only occasionally has called me by that name, and not wanting to be rude, and remembering to “respect my elders”, I have never corrected this kindly man. Today, he was calling to me: “Catherine – have a Merry Christmas and celebrate Jesus’ birthday” … I heard someone talking, but was oblivious, as I mumbled under my breath when I snagged the wooden box of Clementines along my index finger and got a sliver. He came right over next to me and looked me in the eye and repeated his words, then he said “you’ve got that big hat pulled down over your ears and you couldn’t hear me” … I just smiled (through gritted teeth).

I left the store and walked through the parking lot to my car. As I was unloading my cart, who comes along but the elderly fire-and brimstone preacher who passes out tracts and preaches in the parking lot to anyone who will listen. I listened one day while loading up my car with groceries, and silly me – he asked my name and I gave it. Then he gave me his card, and told me about his website where I could go to donate to him. I threw away that business card. He is a regular fixture, this parking lot preacher, and I see him every time I go to the store. He always calls me by name – my correct name. After the first time, I pretended I didn’t hear him. He came over and said “Linda, don’t you remember me?” … I shook my head “no” and said “you must be confusing me with someone else – have a nice day”… so now we have this conversation nearly every time I go shopping and he is there.

Dear Abby: I don’t know whether to feel like a fool or that I am deceptive with these people. But I mind my manners and am polite to these strangers.

So … it is duly noted Mom and Dad that I paid attention all those years ago. I still mind my manners, respect my elders, write thank you notes when appropriate and I will just quietly play “The Name Game” … though it makes me weary sometimes of the charade.

Today it seems I have metal on the mind – some precious, some … not so much.

This morning it was quite breezy and bitter cold, but I was dressed for it, so it was a good walk – not very imaginative, just looping around the neighborhood a few times.

Finally, the ordeal of the metal hut in my yard that went airborne during the 60 mph windstorm is over and that hulking hut is gone forever. Its final demise yesterday was quick … a half-hour of a whining metal saw and then the plunk, plunk, plunk of metal pieces hitting the inside bed of the pick-up truck. Now I bemoan that the landscape of my backyard is changed … and not for the good. I went out back and looked around before I left on my walk and it made me shake my head.

While walking, I was pondering over the news events of the morning that I heard on the early newscast while eating breakfast.

Today was closing arguments in the 9-week Bob Bashara criminal trial that has titillated us with its tawdry details since Day 1. Maybe the jury will bring in a speedy verdict and the Bashara children can have some closure in knowing whether or not their father participated in the murder of their mother almost three years ago. In their heart I think they know the truth and what most everyone suspects.

But there were several good news items for today … positive news stories for a change.

Every year a generous donor, who prefers to remain anonymous, drops one Krugerrand coin, valued at over $1,000.00, into a Salvation Army red kettle at the same location. Plink, plink, plink as it slips down into the kettle, and, in a moment’s time, many lives are made easier by this generous donation. The Krugerrand tossed into the kettle yesterday has a worth of $1,200.00. I was a volunteer bell ringer for the Salvation Army a few years ago. Often people cover the slot when making a donation – perhaps it is because they’re unloading a handful of coins and not paper money and they don’t want you to think less of them. The Salvation Army doesn’t care what you give – coins add up and all donations, small or large, are cheerfully accepted by this worthy organization.

Today, the City of Detroit emerges from bankruptcy, nearly 18 months after the initial filing. There is rejoicing and celebration for the City, arising Phoenix-like from the ashes, and no longer being in a financial emergency. This was the largest U.S. city to file for bankruptcy – ever; it has shed some 7 billion dollars of debt (and yes, that’s billion with a “B”). Hopefully “The D” will never return to that ugly scenario again.

I entitled this post after the song “Silver and Gold” by Burl Ives, one of my favorite Christmas songs. It is from the show “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” which just celebrated its 50th or golden anniversary a few days ago. I never missed that show when I was a kid and used to watch it well into my adult years as well.

I seems like I’ve been obsessed with chronicling the time and years gone by this week ever since I saw that time capsule.

I wonder if it is a part of growing older?

This year, for my Christmas cards, I used a picture from 1964 with my pet poodle Peppy. I created the nostalgic-looking card on a hot Summer’s night in August on a photo website and plopped the picture from Christmas Day 1964 to make this holiday card. The inscription on the back reads:

Sometimes vintage memories are the best.
I found this picture taken at Christmas ’64 – it simply can’t be that it is a half-century ago!
I knew I had to share this memory with you.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and those who make you happy. – Linda

Although we had a real tree when I was just a toddler, the fad in the mid-60s was those kitschy-looking aluminum trees like this one. To any of you who were born after this aluminum tree era, these silver trees came apart to store them. There were three wooden pieces joined together to make the stick for the trunk and then many different lengths of metallic fake branches. The branches didn’t move, but stuck straight out. If you touched the aluminum “needles” your hands were instantly blackened. Decorative bulbs were either one color with the same color floodlight, or, multicolored with a multicolored revolving floodlight.

I love having a look back at years gone by. Perhaps this is because I’m the only one left in my family. Photos serve to preserve my past for me, since there is no one to share memories with anymore – so I’ll share them with you instead, okay?

If numbers are your shtick, the holiday season won’t disappoint.

At any given moment, someone is counting beans or calculating something in their head, or on Google calculator – maybe even you.

Store owners start crunching numbers way before Thanksgiving and will do so long after the New Year’s Eve noisemakers are tucked away.

Yup, the season is filled with numbers – it is a numerologist’s delight.

How many shopping days ‘til Christmas?

That eggnog is how many calories?

How many New Year’s resolutions should I make?

There are the Twelve Days of Christmas.

Check that waistband for added inches after family get-togethers, a few rounds of holiday parties and Christmas treats set out by co-workers that beg for comment and consumption.

What do you mean you need Christmas cookies for everyone for snack day tomorrow and it’s 8:00 p.m.!

Calendars are consulted.

That eggnog is how many calories?

Days are ticked off (so are people).

How many employees are needed to handle the crowds?

We exist on coffee and run on fumes as we add more items to the daily agenda and subtract hours of sleep to make an exhausting equation during these few weeks called the holiday season.

Yikes!

But if you’re really and truly into numbers, you must take note that this Saturday, December 13th is extra-special. The numerical date is 12/13/14 and this number combo won’t happen again until 01/02/03.

Gulp – let’s not go there.

The Little Wedding Chapel nearby in Taylor, Michigan is booked solid for weddings and vow renewal this Saturday. They state the reason they are swamped is so that people won’t forget their wedding anniversary date.

Really?!

It’s not that difficult to remember your anniversary date unless you are Zsa Zsa Gabor or Larry King.

It is better to buy a lotto ticket and incorporate those magical numbers into your bet slip somehow.

Whoops … did I say that?

Hit the ground running … now, before everyone else reads this and beats you there.

Today was “tax-payin’ day” and it was a gloomy-looking morning, made even gloomier by writing out a check for the Winter taxes.

Anticipating a long line at City Hall, I set out earlier than usual, and it was darker than I like it to be. The street lights were still twinkling as I walked along Fort Street. It was a short walk by my standards – just two miles round trip.

I arrived as they opened and was the first one there. And no one was behind me. Hmmmm. I could have slept in a little longer I guess. I was done and on my way in two minutes.

I didn’t want to head right home and it was too late to walk to the Park, so I dilly-dallied along Southfield Road. Instead of cutting through the neighborhoods, I meandered by the Lincoln Park Historical Museum. This is just a long and fancy name for an old building that used to be the main post office. Inside are artifacts about our City and they have an official curator. Every so often the marquis touts an upcoming ice cream social designed to showcase the museum’s latest historical acquisitions.

In front of the building is a huge, antique-looking, bronze bell from Goodell School. Now, I’ve passed that old bell hundreds of times when I’ve been in the car but never gave it more than a glance. Today I perused it, read the inscription and learned that this sizeable bell was hoisted up and is hanging from a bell tower comprised of reclaimed bricks from all the razed Lincoln Park schools.

I was working at the diner on Summer break from college when Goodell School was torn down to build an A&P grocery store. We were just a block away from the demolition site. People came into the diner crying and carrying bricks they had salvaged from the demolition, and bragging about desks and old blackboards they had rescued that were out in their vehicles. I don’t know if I could have gotten that sentimental over the dusty dregs of school days gone by, but maybe I missed something. I leaned across the counter to see into their cars or looked at their recovered bricks and agreed how lucky they were to find these artifacts.

What caught my eye today was this sign pictured above. It commemorates a time capsule buried within the Goodell Bell Tower. Tonight I Googled around trying to find out more about the time capsule. I never remember reading about it in the local paper. Evidently items were gathered and deposited October 17, 1999 and sealed the first day of the New Millennium. It is slated to be opened in the year 3000. Well, I guess I won’t know what the contents of the time capsule will be and the Historical Society didn’t divulge them either. Kind of leaves me hangin’ a bit – I’m sure I won’t be around to hear about it personally.

On the way home I pondered about what was going on 15 years ago right about now.

We were a world filled with the horror stories of the impending Y2K event and what could or would happen to our computers, clocks and some of our appliances. We were told the power might not come on when the clock struck twelve on January 1st. Power grids would go down like dominos, gas pumps would go offline and computers would malfunction bigtime

At the law firm where I worked, the fear of how Y2K might wreak havoc with our computer system caused the Firm to upgrade to Windows – we had been using a Unix-based system with dummy terminals before that. So, just before the new decade arrived, we all received brand-new Windows PCs. It was the first time most of us had seen or used a mouse or even looked at the internet. Unbelievable isn’t it? I know I held off buying my own first computer until after Y2K had arrived.

I remember watching the news as the New Millennium dawned around the world and the U.S. learned the arrival was perfect in those countries. There was a collective sigh of relief that we were seemingly all unscathed despite all the doomsayers’ dire predictions.

I think we’ve had a few more doomsday stories to contend with since then … but we’re all still here and present and accounted for.

And what were you doing as you awaited the highly-dreaded and greatly anticipated Y2K event?

What a glorious morning – it was a little frosty but the sun was out. Yay for those rays! Even sunglasses would have been in order.

I hadn’t walked on the path at Council Point Park since Thanksgiving, so that was the destination for my Sunday stroll.

Since the last time I trekked through the neighborhoods to and from the Park, alot of people have strung their holiday lights and put out their decorations. Christmas trees were peeking through living room windows, brimming with bulbs and glowing with lights in the early morn. In one front yard I saw Santa and his reindeer mixin’ it up with Baby Jesus and a manger scene, while a few homeowners have their harvest and Halloween décor still going on.

It was quiet and peaceful at the Park … just how I like it.

I guess the regular walkers and joggers have abandoned the regimen for the colder months since I walked two loops and never saw a soul until I was crossing the parking lot on my way home.

There was a thin veil of ice on the Creek water, but a swift current was pushing that wafer-thin ice around and breaking it up a bit. In those patches of ice-free water you could play connect-the-dots with the ducks … there was about fifty mallards this morning. After all these months they have finally returned to Duck Landing. A handful of them were, in fact, roosting on the cement precipice when I came around the bend. I startled them, and they soon flew off or just plopped into the water under the drain area.

As I was enjoying the Park’s peace and tranquility, that ambiance was enhanced by the usual squirrels waylaying me along the path. I started to draw my camera out of my pocket, then thought – there can be too many squirrel photos, much as I enjoy their antics. Like the ducks, it all becomes a blur after awhile.

Besides … I brought my camera along for the sole purpose of taking a final Fall shot at the gateway to the Park. I have taken pictures in all the seasons thus far, except Winter; in fact, I’ve shot a series of Fall photos with the leaves in various colors and today the same trees are now bare.

My mother liked to work on jigsaw puzzles. Some of them were really complicated and often she would spend many hours looking for those one or two elusive pieces to complete a section. Once, she had an especially difficult puzzle which was one beautiful tree in all four seasons – how different it looked! I was trying to emulate that same beautiful tree and will make a collage to capture the four seasons once the snow arrives and settles on the bare branches of the trees at the Park entrance.

The squirrels indeed came bopping out of the bushes, awaiting handouts. I use the term “bop” loosely as their girth makes their gait more of a waddle since they are so chubby nowadays. They got those treats, plus a smile and a “hi sweetie” – hey, it doesn’t get any better than that if you’re a squirrel … in my opinion anyway. Soon they sat on haunches, a peanut clutched in their front paws, then stealthily crept off stealing one to hide for later. They really didn’t have to do that since I left a surprise pile at the side of trail for them just before I resumed my walk. When I returned for the second time around, cracked shells were strewn every place I had made a pit, er … peanut stop.

As I walked along the path, with the leaves all gone, I had a perfectly clear view through to the water and I was mindful of the drab surroundings. The Park looks so barren as the picnic tables have been stacked up in a padlocked area along with numerous trash barrels. The pavilion is bare as well and everything looks a little lackluster. So, I was caught up in the moment and the reality that Winter will soon be here with a vengeance.

I was pondering nothing in particular when suddenly the clanging of the bells began signaling the arrival of the train to Emmons Boulevard. It interrupted the still morn. The bells clanged incessantly, and gradually the train neared and the rhythmic chugging along the tracks was almost hypnotic – it must’ve been a very long train as it took forever to pass.

I kept walking, occasionally stooping over to tender more peanuts. All the while I kept my eyes peeled for the deer or raccoon, but it seems their appearance was an anomaly and they are long gone.

As I finished up the last leg of my trip on the trail, bells were pealing at a nearby church as it summoned its parishioners to hurry up and get seated and not to be late.

I am happy that I dusted off my digital camera earlier this year to get some pictures to accompany the vignettes of my daily treks. Before that I relied mostly on stock photos.

Back in the day, during and after college, I travelled alot and was an avid photographer. I took a few photography classes to learn some techniques to use with my 35mm camera. I tried to take a trip once a year, and, of course, I had to have my big camera bag weighing me down all the time, a tripod hanging off to one side, and extra canisters of film … just in case. I was constantly changing lenses and forever fiddling with filters and F-stops. Then, long before digital cameras and smart phones, I simplified my life when I bought a pocket camera and gradually starting leaving all the 35mm equipment ensconced in the big padded bag behind. Eventually I stopped using the 35mm camera altogether.

My digital camera captures the essence of my daily walks and is quite handy and effortless. No more peering at negatives to try to figure out what was your best shot and sometimes guessing wrong and getting extra copies made of a dud photograph. It’s easy to pick and choose on your computer screen now – just a few mouse clicks to keep or delete. And shooting is a breeze … that is, as long as your subject doesn’t run or fly faster than you can click the button. My ratio of shots taken versus shots used is abominable. Maybe I’ll make it my New Year’s resolution to enhance my photography skills in 2015

So on this feel-good day, I racked up another five miles. Though I had reached my goal and this is just for fun now, it felt good to get out and about and enjoy the day. Guess I’ll have to ponder on whether I count these extra miles so that I have to top this number next year or are these just “gravy”?

I leave you with a metaphor to sum up this Sunday:

“Life is like a camera. Focus on what’s important, capture the good times, develop from the negatives and if things don’t work out, just take another shot.” – Anonymous

Mallards are mad about me.

How could they not adore me? Every time I meander over to see those mallards, I toss a large bag of crumbed-up bread into the water for them. They usually congregate daily for a morning meet and greet at the branch of the Ecorse Creek beneath the footbridge. That was my destination today, but first …

I waited forever for the sky to brighten up so I could slip out of the house for that walk this morning. The sensor light out front was still lit up and the sky was dark and gloomy as I got dressed to go.

The cold and darker mornings have meant a loss of spontaneity for walking … it’s hard to just clip on the pedometer and grab the camera and set out when you have layer upon layer to don first.

I needed a break from my computer as it has been a busy week. It is usually that way with a long holiday, especially a four-day holiday. You work at breakneck speed before, then after – at least, that’s the way it always seems to be. It was month end and it is nearing year end, so I have been tethered to the keyboard.

But, for all my grumbling, I am back here again … typing on the same keyboard, fingers poised as words go directly from my brain to my nimble fingers.

I have also had a frustrating week dealing with the aftermath of the windstorm on November 24th. The metal shed that went airborne continues to languish in the backyard, but, I think, finally, fingers crossed, the details are firmed up for it to go this weekend. The broken cross-bar and address sign on the light post that went sailing into the air and landed onto the bushes at its base when the tree trimmers misjudged where the tree would fall, remains at issue as well. The owner’s suggested fix was “Gorilla Glue”.

Too many details, too little time – so I had to get outta here, even just for a short while. A little escape for my mind and my feet as well.

Needing a little nature infusion, I figured today was the day to go duck watchin’.

I searched the freezer for some old bread heels and set them out to defrost to crumb up for the ducks. That, combined with some of my current loaf of marble rye. made them a tasty treat and I’m sure I made their day.

I hustled over to the Harrison Street Bridge, camera and bread in tow. There must have been two dozen mallards milling about in the shallow water, quacking away to anyone who would listen. They seemed oblivious to me standing on the footbridge, that is … until I threw out the first handful of bread.

They paddled over en masse and I smiled as they crowded one another to grab a bite. It got ugly for a few moments, as there is always a malcontent in every crowd. One mischievous mallard swooped in and cut another one off at the pass … his response was much wing-flapping and quacking.

I really wanted to call out “mind your manners” but didn’t want my integrity to be tarnished by such interplay with my feathered friends should somehow drive or walk by.

I finished tossing out the bread and turned the bag upside down for any dregs to float into the water and also so they knew our feeding session was finished. They looked at me rather expectantly, but I told them “that’s it for now” and I turned on my heel, took off and headed for home where another bird would similarly soon look at me when I uncovered him – whatcha got???

Then he will burst into song.